A Good Idea At The Time
by lazaefair
Summary: Larry held his own against Kahmunrah pretty handily in the Smithsonian. The question is, how did some schmuck from Brooklyn learn to fight like that? Larry/Ahkmenrah UST if you squint - and I do. T for language. Spoilers for both movies.


"I'm not stupid. I know I didn't die during the thing with Cecil and the rest is because I got kind of lucky. Okay, mostly lucky. Look, the point is I don't have any combat skills, but my job is to break up the freaking Battle of Antietam every night. It puts pressure on a guy, you know?"

Teddy gave Larry an amused look. "But fortunately, you work in a museum where some of the greatest warriors in history come to life every night?"

"Exactly! So who do I start with?"

* * *

Somehow, when he rolled over on his back with an agonizing grind of his muscles, Larry knew exactly what he'd see in his field of vision: a row of faces bending over him, most of them probably not doing a very good job of hiding their grins.

"I'm curious, Larry. Why _did_ you pick Attila the Hun for your first foray into the finer points of martial combat?"

Larry blinked while everything went in and out of focus. He couldn't even tell who was talking.

"Conquered all of Asia. Figured he'd be good for it," Larry slurred, attempted to sit up and felt grateful for whichever kind souls had taken hold of his arms and helped him get into some semblance of upright. "...Feel kinda drunk. S'at normal?"

A burst of guttural syllables went on over his head, and then some cackling. Someone patted him on the head. "Don't worry, Larry. It's bad form in the Museum to permanently harm the night guard. Is that clear!"

He winced at Roosevelt's stentorian tones - too loud even if it wasn't directed at him - and smiled in gratitude at Sacagawea, who was now dressing some cuts on his face. She smiled back and said a bit more softly, "You should start with something easier."

Larry attempted to wiggle his toes and failed. "Yeah, you don't have to tell me that twice."

* * *

Two days later, Erica attempted to drop Nick off, until she caught sight of Larry's face and the bandages wrapped around his torso. "Oh my god, Larry, what happened?"

"Nothing! It's nothing. I'm just taking some martial combat classes, that's all. My teacher gets a little--enthusiastic sometimes, but it's okay, it looks worse than it is."

Erica appeared to be groping for words to say. "Martial combat?"

"Yeah, you know, it's interesting, I figure it could...come in handy someday."

"Yes, but only if you're starring in an action movie set in a _museum_. Larry, what are you thinking?"

"It's just a hobby! You were always encouraging me to find my own interests or whatever!"

"Listen." Erica (gently) grabbed his arm and drew him into the kitchen. She shut the door. "I don't really care what bizarre things you're doing with your time--"

Larry threw her a dirty look. "Thanks--"

"--but I can't condone anything if it's going to hurt Nick or his time with you. Or, hell," she rolled her eyes, "if it hurts _you_. Do you understand?"

She looked so fierce that Larry found his head automatically nodding yes, he understood, it wouldn't be a problem, absolutely not, of course...

"You're babbling again," Erica said, her eyes crinkling and something tugging at the corner of her mouth. Larry snapped his mouth shut.

"Anyway, I've got to go. Don will be by tomorrow to pick Nick up," she paused in the doorway and gave him a thoughtful look. "Don't let him stay up too late, all right?"

"Yeah, um, don't worry about that," Larry said. Nick usually slept like a baby on the couch in the guard office, tuckered out from playing hard and fast with the Museum characters who loved him.

"Okay, great," Erica favored him with a bright smile and slipped out into the living room to say goodbye to their son. Larry's arm twinged and he went to go change the bandage with a sigh.

* * *

"Is everything all right?"

"Gnahh! _Jesus_, seriously, don't do that."

"Sorry." Ahkmenrah's eyes seemed to get even bigger and he tilted his head.

"It's okay," Larry waved a hand, as much to dismiss the incident as to get the disconcertingly concerned look off the pharaoh's face. "It's just--I swear to god it's really spooky when you guys _aren't_ acting like a horde of elephants. Where have you been, anyway?"

"Here and there," was the vague reply. "I thought you would be in training at this time."

"The Emperor was busy," Larry shook his head. "Rebellious terracotta warriors or something like that. I didn't hear everything he said over the sound of 'talk to the hand.'" He made air quotes.

The eyebrows came down in a tiny crinkle and Ahkmenrah said nothing.

"I mean," Larry tried again, "I don't think he really wants to teach me to fight."

"I was given to understand the position of night guard is highly respected here..."

"Sure," Larry shrugged and winced as something twinged again. "If you ask Teddy, I guess. But so far no one wants to teach the dummy civilian the secret arts of their discipline, or whatever. Except Attila. And you know how that turned out--hey!" He held up a finger against Ahkmenrah's sudden smirk. Larry narrowed his eyes. "Not one word."

"Then you don't want to hear what I came to say?" The smirk turned into a softer smile.

Larry gave him a quizzical look and dropped his hand. "Um, okay...go ahead."

"I could teach you."

"What, you know how to fight?"

"I was trained in the highest disciplines of martial arts by the finest tutors in the land. I _am_ the pharaoh of a conquering empire, you know," Ahkmenrah reminded him with some pique, though the effect was ruined when he suddenly dropped his eyes by the end of the statement. "Or, I was." His voice came out much more quietly.

Larry scratched the back of his neck and also looked away, because, yeah, he didn't want to go there either. He took a breath, and when he looked back around, Ahkmenrah suddenly turned his head to catch his gaze at the same time.

To his relief, Ahkmenrah gave him a tiny nod, and then things weren't so intensely uncomfortable.

"So, um, fighting. Hey, did you guys have like, Egyptian ninjas?"

* * *

"What?" Emerging from the Egypt gallery, Ahkmenrah regarded Larry with a bemused smile.

Larry blinked and realized he'd been staring. "Nothing. I just--you know. A pharaoh in sweatpants." He gestured vaguely. "It's never not going to be kind of weird."

Ahkmenrah looked down at the t-shirt and sweatpants left over from Larry's college days and now adorning his crownless, robeless self.

"Well, I think I rather enjoy what modern civilization has done with cotton," he said, apparently choosing to ignore the staring and the 'weird' comment. He smoothed a hand over the CUNY logo, running his fingers through the fabric of his clothes with an unexpectedly sensual curve in his lips that had Larry quietly clearing his throat and strenuously looking elsewhere. Not that it was hard to do. A ring of curious museum figures surrounded the cleared-off training area, padded with some spare carpet that Larry had found in storage.

"Now," the other man began, while Larry guiltily started and transferred his gaze from the three-headed stone dog back to Ahkmenrah. "I'll start with some variations on the blocking moves we worked on yesterday. First, let's see how your third form looks."

* * *

"Ow," was all Larry said as he regarded the floor, whom he was becoming very good friends with. He rolled over. "Fuck."

Ahkmenrah offered a hand, and this was the classic moment for when Larry would take the hand and sweep him off his feet to land beside Larry, they would laugh, and have an awkward mentor/mentee bonding moment. Except Ahkmenrah's stance was rock-solid and they hadn't gotten to the throwing techniques chapter yet.

"And what did you learn from that?" Ahkmenrah asked him, all serious-eyed.

"Um..." Larry ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "I'm definitely never telling Nick about how much you kicked my ass just now?"

Ahkmenrah sighed, and backed away to drop into a fighting crouch.

Larry groaned, "Oh come on--"

"Again," Ahkmenrah uttered the dreaded word sternly, but it was the small quirk in the corner of his mouth that got Larry to obey without _too_ much complaining.

* * *

Years later, Kahmunrah brought his curved sword down on Larry's neck. Larry blocked with the maglight before the neurons in his brain really even kickstarted for it.

Breathe.

Turn.

Step.

Arms screaming with muscle memory, Larry parried, heaved and Kahmunrah reeled back a pace.

"Who taught you to fight, you...you _peasant_," he hissed, face contorted with absolute rage.

"Turns out your baby brother knows how to fight really, really well. Ruling a kingdom, you know?" Larry spat, dancing left, light on his toes just like Ahkmenrah taught so long ago. Get him angry (angrier), get him to make errors in judgment, poke him with his jealousy issues and get him off-balance--Larry suddenly wrenched away, out of reach. _Christ_, Kahmunrah was fast.

_If you know you're outmatched by your opponent, end the fight QUICKLY_, Ahkmenrah's voice whispered in Larry's head even as they locked, whipped around, and Larry jerked himself out of the way of a vicious sweep.

And then they were at the door, the scary fucking doorway to the underworld, and Kahmunrah was falling through and...well, Larry figured that had to be the end, 'cause it was the fucking underworld, right?

Turned out it was. He almost dropped his maglight with the sudden shaking in his limbs.

Amelia was at his elbow. "Where did you learn to _fight_ like that?" her eyes were round and possibly shining with admiration.

"A friend. A while ago," Larry said, and it hit him just how long it'd been since he'd spent more than one night at a time in Ahkmenrah's, _his_ Ahkmenrah's presence.

"Well, thank your friend for me when you see him again, 'cause he definitely saved your ass back there," Amelia said with a smirk, and Larry found himself nodding.

"Yeah, he did. He really, really did."


End file.
